The Only Good Thing
by JacquiT
Summary: Stinger's feeling nostalgic as he watches Kiza sleep. [JA Fic Challenge #4]


_Note: Cross-posted on Ao3 as iluvdanimal. This is also a JA Fic Challenge entry; the prompt was Birthday._

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 _In, out. In, out. In, out._

It was clear and unobstructed and if Stinger Apini had ever looked for a moment when he was utterly unencumbered by worry or fear or doubt, it was this moment. In his long life he'd never experienced unguarded joy, until now.

Kiza was sleeping in the wake of her recode and he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, but he couldn't hear anything but respiration – the air went in deep, her lungs expanded, her heart beat, and she exhaled.

Not a crackle, or a rumble, or a sign of stickiness. Clean, healthy air into clean, healthy lungs.

It had been years since he'd watched her sleep and knew there was hope for her. Even in the confused days following her introduction into his life he'd been worried, and alternated his unexpectedly happy feelings with terrified ones.

He'd never wanted Kiza, although he'd die before she found that out. He'd been sent to Marcellian Cahun's facility to review a new hive and select the best and brightest to tap as possible Skyjackers. He commonly looked forward to doing this; it was almost like a vacation. He spent two or three days being waited on and reviewing training records; the evenings he spent with Madam Cahun.

She was tall and charming and smelled sweet like grass; she was also highly intelligent and although Stinger loved visiting her bed, he also loved their conversations, whether they agreed with one another or not. They were of one mind when it came to the subject of Splices having rights (they hadn't any, and they ought to have); they were not when it came to Caine Wise (she thought he should've been culled as a pup).

On this particular visit, however, as soon as he arrived, Madam Cahun had pulled him aside, and with little explanation, presented a bundle to him, and begged him to take it with him.

"Is that – is that a _baby_? You're asking me to take an infant?"

She nodded vigorously. "You're a Skyjacker – you can have a family. Lots of Skyjackers have families."

"Lots of Skyjackers – the human ones – have spouses," he replied, horrified. "How would I care for her? I'm not a human. I'm not allowed a spouse."

"You're a Skyjacker!" she'd shouted at him. "You can afford a nanny! And if you can't, then get that pet dog of yours to do something other than hunt people down and kill them."

Stinger's eyes flashed golden. "Caine is not my pet – and you can't go on about Splice's rights in one breath and use those kinds of hateful words in the next. Caine is also a Skyjacker and whatever else he is, he's not a nanny."

But her face had all but crumbled as she held the squirming bundle. "Stinger, please. The Legion doesn't want her when they take the hive. They'll kill her if I send her to them."

"Why?"

"She didn't pass all of the tests," said Marcellian. "She's strong enough, but smaller than the others."

Stinger couldn't help it. "Huh. Who else do I know like that? Let's see. . . . oh, that's right. A Lycantant splice, name of Caine Wise. Seems to have done all right by my estimation."

"That's not fair – he exists to kill. I can't."

He stepped so close to her that there was hardly anything between them, only the squirming, unhappy baby. "And what," he buzzed, "do you think the rest of her hive will be doing? Growing wildflowers and making honey and dancing for Lady Kalique? Warhammers don't exist for entertainment purposes, Madam Cahun."

She closed her eyes. "Stinger-"

"Just pull her out of the hive. When she's matured, the Legion infantry will buy her contract. She'll be fine."

"She'll be dead six months in. She might not make it out of training."

"And what about the rest of the bloody hive?" he roared. "In five years they'll start training; they won't all make it out. Five years after that they'll be in flight training. Five percent don't make it past day one. What about them? What makes this one so special, eh? What's so different about this one little thing?"

She looked taken aback – he didn't usually yell at her like this, even when they disagreed. "Stinger, they're yours," she said quietly. "This is _your_ hive."

He stared at her. After his last recode, they'd taken the necessary sample and then sterilized him again. It hadn't bothered him at the time – not that he had a choice in the matter. "I'm not supposed to know that," he said, his voice sharp. " _You're_ not supposed to know that."

"I always know." She searched his confused eyes and then took a deep breath. "Look, I can't control the lives of all my splices. But this one, I _can_. And maybe you can't have a spouse, but you could have _her_. You could give this little thing the best chance _any_ splice has _ever_ had at a full life."

He was stunned, whether from the information she'd just dumped on him or by the notion that he might have the power to make such a difference, he wasn't sure. "You're crazy," he finally said. "And you're gonna get yourself in trouble." And he turned and left.

But damned if he wasn't back, right before he was scheduled to leave, staring into the bassinet on the end of a long line of crying babies. The little thing on the end was just as upset as the rest of them, but squeaked and squirmed rather than screaming. She'd managed to wrestle herself out of her swaddled blanket. Stinger didn't know the first thing about infant care but was sure that the little shirt she wore wasn't enough covering for such a little thing, so he tucked the blanket back around her.

She settled and waved her arms a little, managing to whack him on the hand. "Oy," he replied gruffly, and rested his big palm against her little stomach. She stopped squirming and looked up at him.

"Beeswax," he rumbled, and knew that he was lost. _How can I let those pretty blue eyes see all the horrible things I have?_

Later, on the ship, Caine looked dubiously into the little bassinet and suggested Stinger curl up on the floor with her instead. Stinger called him a great furry beast and sent him back to his own quarters.

He hadn't seen Madam Cahun after that. When he looked at Kiza sometimes he was convinced he saw Marcellian in her; other times he was convinced it was just in his own head. He did wonder whether this one little splice wasn't different from the rest of her hive on purpose – if, as she said, the paternal DNA had come from him, but just Kiza had different maternal DNA, and that was why she'd been so desperate for him to take that little squirmy bundle that day.

He didn't want to know, one way or another. Splicers were forbidden from using their own DNA in production; if Kiza belonged to Marcellian, she'd be put out of business and Kiza would be taken from him. He didn't care about Marcellian's business, but he did care about Kiza. Fiercely.

Which was why, as soon as he knew there was something wrong with her, he couldn't take her back and ask for help. The court martial, his diminished position, his lack of income aside, he couldn't risk it. Kiza was all he had.

It had been hard, betraying Caine the way he had, but not as hard as it was to watch Kiza go through what she did. The coughing fits were horrible, but when she got those at least she'd have some reprieve, even if it was just a few hours at a time. When the bug manifested itself as headaches or stomach problems she couldn't eat and couldn't sleep and there was nothing he could do but wait until he could get his hands on a little bit of juice, just to get her by.

He'd have given up Caine and Jupiter again, given the chance.

Just to hear this . . . in, out . . . in, out . . . in, out.

He nestled his hand in hers. In about a week, she'd be where he was now – he was scheduled to get his wings. But for now he'd listen to her glorious breaths and rest his head next to their joined hands, and plan the route they'd take to fly over the cornfields – she in his boots, he with his wings.

A little while later, a nurse stepped into the room to check on Kiza. Stinger lifted his weary head and nodded in acknowledgment; the nurse gave an unimpressed nod in response and turned to review the medical information on the monitor above Kiza's head.

"Standard splice recode . . . seems fine . . . vital signs are stable. Not much to do now but rest." Her tone was telling – she likely didn't have much compassion for splices – but she gave Stinger a kind of sour smile and turned back to page through Kiza's record. "Oh – did you know? I don't suppose you do. . . . Splices _rarely_ know."

Stinger hoisted an eyebrow at the nurse. "I _do_ know," he told her. "She's my daughter. Of course I know."

The nurse sneered in response. "Well. She's fine. You should be going home soon." And she turned and left.

He scowled after her a moment, but turned back to the bed when he felt Kiza's hand squeeze his.

"What do you know?" she asked, her voice clear, but quiet from disuse.

"It's your birthday," he replied. "What kind of father doesn't know his own daughter's birthday?"

She smiled, and her eyelids fluttered. "And how old am I today?"

"You're twenty-four, but with this recode her Majesty gave you as a gift, you don't look a day over twenty-one."

Kiza's brow rumpled. "Her Majesty paid for the recode?"

Stinger nodded once. "To prevent Titus from suing me for breach of contract," he explained. "I held up my end of the deal, but he didn't get what he wanted, and you know how Entitled are."

Kiza did know, but didn't want to think about it too much just then. "And what did you get me for my birthday?" she teased.

He chuckled. "You can have anything you want, now you're well," he told her. She laughed a little, and met his eyes. He was reminded fiercely of that day she'd looked up at him, straight into his eyes – straight into his soul, if Splices had souls – and he first knew he could do something good with his life. Today, as he watched those clear blue eyes droop closed in sleep again, he knew he had.

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Thanks for reading!


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